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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23233741">Stiles Almost Freezes To Death (But Wait, There's More)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moony_07/pseuds/Moony_07'>Moony_07</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cold Weather, Cute, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale Takes Care of Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale is Good With Kids, Derek Hale is a Softie, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Humor, I mean sort of you don't really see it but, Light Angst, M/M, Original Character(s), Stiles Stilinski Has a Bad Day, Stiles Stilinski Has a Sister, Stiles Stilinski is Good with Kids, and he also has the worst fucking luck but shhh don't tell him I said that</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:54:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,433</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23233741</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moony_07/pseuds/Moony_07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It sure would be a shame if you were to almost break your ankles (a second time) and leave your four-year-old sister out in the cold, but a good plus is the fact that your big bad boyfriend has super hearing. Hooray?</p><p>(Or in which Stiles re-lives some clumsy-ass childhood trauma and Derek saves him. And his sister.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Stiles Almost Freezes To Death (But Wait, There's More)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>You may or may not have noticed I've lost a lot of my formalities. Well, I'm sick of sounding formal in a place where I should be free to be an idiot, so... Now we're here.</p><p>I originally planned not to post this story, since it wasn't actually completely finished and I couldn't- for the LIFE OF ME- find a way to continue the plot. In the end, I came to the decision that somebody out there might want to read a situation just like this one, so I said "fuck it" and now we're here.</p><p>Enjoy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It doesn’t usually snow. I don’t think it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>supposed </span>
  </em>
  <span>to snow. But… It’s snowing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The last thing I remember is a sea of pure white, little slashes of dark trees spotted over what used to be a field (and is now a winter wonderland). I’ve always known about the little drop-off out here. Hell, I’ve managed to hurt my foot when Scott and I were practicing and I took one step too far backward.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scotty couldn’t look my father in the face for three weeks after the whole “Stiles fell and almost fractured his ankle and it was my fault” fiasco.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> sneak me more candy than what would’ve been acceptable for the time I was bedridden. That’s when I learned practically breaking your ankles could be a good thing. Or, really, it could be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>great</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oops! ...I did it again” </span>
  </em>
  <span>is drowning out all other thoughts in my head. It would be much more annoying if the song weren’t such a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bop</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>My name is Stiles Stilinski. I just fell approximately four and a half feet, probably less, and my ankle is screeching at me insistently. It literally won’t just </span>
  <em>
    <span>shut the fuck up</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I don’t think I’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>broken it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like what happened last time, but it fucking hurts. Now, keep in mind the fact that I did not expect to suddenly relive some stupid-ass childhood trauma, but here we are.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There are worried calls just </span>
  <em>
    <span>barely </span>
  </em>
  <span>reaching my ears, coming from somewhere in the cold distance. I realize with a full-body shiver that I left my four-year-old sister out in the snow. She’s a clever, reasonable little shit, but even from a good distance away, I can tell she’s on the brink of bursting into tears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opening my mouth, I let out a breathy noise. My fingertips feel like frigid popsicles and I can’t seem to find my lungs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s peaceful, really. The snow fluttering down from above, a few flakes falling onto my eyelashes. The tranquility influences my right mind- coos of a calming breeze biting any exposed skin, dark, scraggly branches clawing up at the sky. Clouds, big and yawning, just minding their own business up in the dull blue.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s the crunch of snow under little pink boots sprinting over to me, and suddenly everything comes back into focus.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>My sister’s tiny gloved hands are planed on my chest, rocking my body back and forth with as much strength as she can muster. There are little whimpers escaping her throat, fat tears slipping down her round cheeks. Her eyes look like kaleidoscopes of watery hazel.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A deep breath- one, two, three. Air so cold it burns my lungs, it floods into my body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kamilla,” I force out her name, my voice rough and weak as if I’ve inhaled a cheese grater.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It only makes her cry harder, tugging forcefully at my coat. She’s trying to make me wake up. I don’t know what to tell her- that I’m already awake or that I just need some time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just some time. A minute or two. Maybe an hour.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A shadow towers over my sight. I can </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel </span>
  </em>
  <span>my sister looking up at another figure, her cries turning into hiccups and tiny fingers digging into the fabric of my shirt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The last thing I remember is strong, warm arms hauling me upward into the fucking heavens. Or not, since I could still see the cursed, naked canopy of dark trees.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>[  ‘,:0  ]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ll keep all my emotions right here, and then one day I’ll die.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a lot of ways you can wake up after passing the fuck out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You can wake up to your mother gently combing her fingers through your hair… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or to the warm, homey smell of fresh bacon and eggs in the morning… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or, if you’re lucky as Hell, to a comforting warmth at your back, a toned arm under your head, and the other relaxed over your waist. A nose and lips that whisper the sweetest nothings against the back of one’s neck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>present </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>there </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>grounding</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What I wake up to is none of those things. It’s a soft, rumbling voice reciting the lines that I recognize are, suspiciously, to </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Very Hungry Caterpillar</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s one of Kamilla’s favorites.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Upon cracking open my eyes, I witness the one and only Derek Hale with Kamilla Claudia Stilinski in his lap, reading her a book filled with nostalgia. There’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>barely </span>
  </em>
  <span>big enough blanket draped over Derek’s shoulders, but he seems content where he is. Kamilla is completely lost in the pages, a gentle, distracted beam splayed over her face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Surprise surprise, John Mulaney’s “New In Town” show is a low-volume undertone of background noise. I can’t trust Derek Hale with my Netflix account. All he fucking watches is John Mulaney, it’s beginning to make me concerned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The soft look Derek has on his face captures me for so long that when his eyes shift, I don’t even really notice it at first. When Kamilla has her nose two inches from the pages of my old childhood book, it takes me a good fifteen seconds- </span>
  <em>
    <span>fifteen fucking seconds</span>
  </em>
  <span>- to notice the fact that Derek’s hazel gaze is steadily trained on me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes used to be sharp. They still are, just not when it comes to me. Or really anybody else in close relations to him. Over the years, they've softened, and it especially shows now. When Derek looks more like a parent than a soldier.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hey," Derek whispers as if Kamilla isn't in his lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hi," I rasp, then decide it's a good time to cough my lungs out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kamilla practically breaks her neck when she hears my voice (and coughing fit), all but leaping off of Derek to strangle me in a bear hug. She may be tiny, but her hugs never cease to be strangling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You're okay!" she exclaims, continuing, "Derek got really scared but luckily I could reassure him that you weren't gonna die and-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek very loudly clears his throat, manages to stutter over that somehow, and sputters, "I was just- I was worried. You can't blame me for that, Kam."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He's still using his </span>
  <em>
    <span>Soft Parent Voice™</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It's fucking adorable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I hum in consideration of his words. "Derek being worried? I haven't heard of that since the summer of 1989." Near the end, I bring out a flawless Grandpa Stilinski voice for added effect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kamilla snorts. "You sound even older than you already are!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I practically choke on air. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Already are? </span>
  </em>
  <span>What the f-"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Let's not say something we'll regret around the four-year-old," Derek warns, finally thawing from his frozen place on the little couch and taking a seat beside me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fffffflarp," I finish. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Smooth move, Stilinski. He can hear your fucking heart rate.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kamilla reaches up and ruffles my hair, stage-whispering, "I'll give you two some time alone."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ladies and gentlemen, my wing-woman: a child that knows how to handle three different types of guns (It was Scotty, I swear) who knows what's up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her little light-up sketchers squeak down to the living room where she’s probably about to switch on Spongebob.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” Derek says just as the telltale sign of a screeching pirate sounds from afar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” I murmur, all the sappiness in the world seeping into my voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chuckles distractedly, which results in the tone becoming more high-pitched and dreamy. “You sound like you’ve absorbed all of Canada into your being.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sniff the air. “Smells like maple syrup and apologizing a lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a fucking idiot, Stiles.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I fall into a laughing fit, Derek ruffling my hair affectionately and maneuvering me so that I’m mainly laid over his lap. Save from my legs, which essentially means I have to do a weird turn with my hips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright?” he mumbles, fingers raking through my hair once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. You?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So polite- Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’m okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This ‘Derek being a softie’ side is really starting to freak me out, can we go back to the time when you fought me over </span>
  <em>
    <span>the right to save you from drowning</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rude.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A grin spreads over my face. “Guess you gotta take back the p-word, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Penis?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I legitimately despise you, Hale.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He falls into a laughing fit, leaning down to bump his forehead against mine. It looks a little uncomfortable at his angle, but the contact has me keeping my complaints on the inside. His smile is so nice- shows more of his bunny teeth, how his eyes crinkle at the corners, how his shoulders bounce a bit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You’re a fucking miracle, Derek.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So here's the diddly darn dealio.</p><p>The title for this fic that I have in Docs is "idiot do fall off cliff and big idiot man saves him". It's genius, I know. But that shows the fact that I had absolutely zero idea of how this was going to play out. And if I could make it longer, trust me, I would. So here you go. My fluffy word vomit.</p><p>Any comments are appreciated. I don't think many people realize how much it means just for a reader to comment something along the lines of "Yo wassup I sorta liked your gay fanfiction". Maybe not that exactly, but close enough.</p><p>Annnyyywho, have a nice day. Stay quarantined. Munch on some chocolate or something (pff, I dunno what you're allergic to, just don't fucking die please).</p><p>Until next time. ^^</p></blockquote></div></div>
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